"You caught me," she whispered, her face tilted up toward his. Her eyes were wide, the gold flecks seeming to spark in the morning light. She wasn't scared. She was… something else. Something that made the air crackle.
He had to let her go. He knew it. Every instinct screamed at him to do the opposite. His past was a shadow he couldn't outrun, a pack of ghosts that would tear apart anything good he dared to touch. Letting her in was not a risk; it was a guarantee of destruction.
With a force of will that felt like ripping his own skin, he released her and took a sharp step back. The space between them felt like a frozen lake, dangerously thin.
He turned away from her, grabbing his hammer so he had something to hold onto. "Go back down, Diana. Now."
He heard her hesitate, a small, confused breath. "Rowan?—"
"Go," he bit out, not looking at her. He couldn't. If he saw the look on her face, he knew his resolve would shatter.
The roof groaned softly as she made her way back to the ladder. He didn't watch her descend, but he listened to every sound until he heard her boots hit the solid ground of the porch.
Alone on the roof, Rowan drove a nail into the decking with a single, violent strike. The scent of her was on his jacket, the feeling of her body pressed against his was seared into his memory. He had to keep her away. For her own good, he had to be the monster she ran from, not the man she ran to. He workeduntil his muscles burned, the rhythmic crash of his hammer the only sound loud enough to drown out his wolf's furious howl.
9
DIANA
The path to the Council Glade was lit by fae-lights that bobbed in the evening air like captive stars. Diana clutched the folder against her chest, the paper edges cool against her knuckles. Beside her, Miriam walked with a steady, unhurried gait, her silver hair catching the glow. Diana’s skin still prickled with the memory of the afternoon—the dizzying slip, the iron grip of Rowan’s arms, and the abrupt, cold wall he’d thrown up after.
“Breathe, child,” Miriam said, her voice a calm anchor in the twilight. “They aren’t going to eat you. They’ll just chew on you a bit first.”
Diana managed a shaky smile. “Comforting.”
“It’s a compliment. They only chew on things they think might be worth the effort.”
The glade opened before them, a circle of ancient stones under a canopy of oak and pine. A low fire burned in a central pit, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the three figures already seated. Diana recognized the wolf elder, Varric Thornwell, from Miriam’s descriptions. His long, silver braids rested on his shoulders, and his eyes, the color of a stormy sky,watched their approach. Beside him sat a man with a perfectly trimmed gray beard and a severe expression that screamed disapproval. The third was Emmett Hollowell, the stoic wolf shifter whose quiet strength felt like a steadying presence even from a distance.
“Miriam. Ms. Merrick.” Varric’s voice was a low rumble, like stones shifting. “Thank you for coming.”
Diana took the empty seat indicated for her, placing her folder on the flat stone in front of her. She could feel their collective skepticism, a heavy cloak in the air. They were judging her, this human who had been handed the keys to their heart.
“Let’s begin,” Varric said. “You have a proposal for the inn.”
Diana took a deep breath and opened the folder. “I do. First, the renovation schedule.” She passed out copies, her hands surprisingly steady. “Rowan Baneville has completed a thorough structural assessment. The north wall, stairs, and sections of the roof require immediate attention to ensure the building’s integrity. His timeline is aggressive but achievable, with the primary structural work completed in the next two weeks.”
The severe-looking man—Elder Bram, she guessed—picked up the paper as if it were contaminated. “Mr. Baneville’s assessment,” he said, his voice clipped. “An interesting choice, given his history of… impermanence.”
"The Council assigned him to the project. He's been... thorough."
"Rowan knows the inn better than anyone except Miriam," Varric said. "If he's confident in the timeline, I'm inclined to trust his judgment."
"His judgment wasn't in question during his last stay in Hollow Oak," Elder Bram said pointedly. "His reliability was."
Diana felt the tension ripple through the circle. This was about more than just her qualifications - it was about pack politics and old grievances she didn't fully understand.
"People change," she said quietly. "Circumstances change. What matters is what someone chooses to do now, not what they did in the past."
"Spoken like someone who's never had to clean up the mess left behind," Councilor Reed said. His voice was gravelly, worn smooth by years of hard work.
“His work is excellent,” Diana said, her voice even. “He understands the building.” The thought of Rowan’s careful hands on the old wood, his patient explanations, solidified her resolve. “He listens to what it needs.”
“A building does not talk, Ms. Merrick,” Bram scoffed.
“Doesn’t it?” Diana met his cold gaze without flinching. “The third step groans when it’s tired. The parlor wall hums when it rains. It’s been telling people it needs help for a long time. I’m just the first person who’s had a contractor willing to translate.”
Emmett Hollowell shifted slightly, a flicker of interest in his gray-blue eyes.
